Hermione circled the dormitory. Her flowing, blue silk left a sensual trail in the wake of her footsteps. Soft brown hair fell in ringlets around her collarbones, rigid in the frosty winter air that floated in through the window. She couldn't bare the whispers around her neck, instead tying it up in what she hoped to be an elegant fashion. It was almost 8.00 p.m.
She would be late, that was certain. Fate had played into her hands, and she was torn over her decision to accept Viktor Krum's request to accompany him to the ball. A strong sense of flattery prevailed over her worry that Ron would disapprove. Not one person had shown any interest in her, and although she was only young her mind had matured much past her years. Yet, did she hold any interest in the opposite sex? It was a debatable question, one which she sighed herself to sleep over. In all honesty, she preffered the company of literature to that of ... well, of anyone. Despite this judgement she reached in her thoughts, she had seen how Harry fell over Cho. How Ron blundered over Fleur. Hermione felt desperately alone.
It was the notion of solitude that prompted Hermione into finally leaving her room. She emerged from behind the portrait of the Fat Lady in mere seconds, clutching the folds of the dress at her waist so as not to hinder her fast pace. Nearing the doors of the Great Hall, she forced herself to slow down. A nervous disposition would be worsened by a lack of composure, she scolded herself. She could see no-one but Viktor. Vickor, dressed in a handsome, deep red suit. Their juxtaposing colours would ensure their entrance to be as enthralling as possible.
"Hermy-own" Viktor greeted her, struggling to manouvere his strong accent around her pronounciation. She laughed in reply, a sweet and innocent ripple blooming from her chest. Viktor kissed her hand, and lead her into the Hall. Hermione barely had time to soak in her surroundings; the ceiling dotted with stars, the frost papering the walls and tables. Gracefully, the pair joined the other champions. Hermione blushed once she had realised that every face in the room was turned towards her. She was intoxicating.
She looked into each the souls of each student as she passed them. There was Neville, his mouth open in awe with Ginny who held a huge grin for her. Fred and Angelina, both beaming, and then Seamus and Lavender looking equally confused. Finally, Draco Malfoy, with shallow Pansy gripping his arm as if it were the only thing keeping her alive. They glared at her, Draco's grey eyes intense against the black velvet of his robes.
The dances passed in a blur of colour and swift movement. She didn't speak to Viktor much; it was difficult to hear over the loud noises of The Weird Sisters. She finally sat down to rest, waiting for Viktor to join them with drinks. Ron refused to look over on her arrival. His red hair matched the anger fuming from his eyes. "What on earth is the matter with you, Ronald?" Hermione shot at his sulky form.
"Me? What on earth is wrong with you? Fratenising with the enemy, aren't we!" Ron was fired back, turning sharply to face her. He saw Hermione's face crumple with pain, but his jealousy was far stronger than his capacity for forgiveness. They continuted to exchange insults, resulting in Hermione's departure and Harry left trying to console Ron.
Hermione was furious. She covered her emotions with a smile and refused to let the incident ruin her perfect evening. After bidding Viktor good night, she waited outside the doors for Harry and Ron. They were almost last to leave. "What are you waiting for?" Ron spat at her. "Seriously, drop it. You wanted to go with Fleur, didn't you? You had your chance?" Harry warned him, infuriating him considerably more. "You think I'm jealous? Do you?" Hermione and Harry both stared at him. They had both realised by now he needed time to cool down. Hermione could feel her heart growing heavy. "I would never be jealous of an oaf like him! She didn't even look special tonight. She was only stared at for being with him! He only took you to get information from you about his competition!" Ron pushed past her. Harry gave her hand a fleeting squeeze, left her with a passing look. She was alone again.
Conflicting emotions chased themselves around her mind. She fell to the floor. The only light flickered from two torches left alight on the walls and she could see she was alone. Here, she allowed herself to shed tears. Here, on the cold stone floor she poured her heart onto desperate thoughts.
"Granger?" A smooth voice filled her ears and at once, she was alert. A figure emerged from the shadows. Tall, lean.. and blonde. "Shove off, Malfoy." She wiped a hand across her face, feeling the shame spreading to rosy her cheeks. "What are you doing on the floor?" His usually accusatory tone was replaced by an unfamiliar touch of care. "I'm in no mood for games. I'm sure you remember how heavily I can push my fist into your face from last year, so I suggest you leave me alone." "But violent Hermione is my favourite." Draco joked with her.
"What did you just call me?" She was suspicious. He sat down beside her, close enough for her to count the eyelashes lining his suddenly warm eyes. "Violent Hermione?" He replied, "Do you think I can make it catch on?" Draco laughed. It was a surprising change from the sneer she was so well aquainted with. She instantly warmed to him.
"Should you not be with your date?" Hermione all but spat out the last word. The moment the sentence slipped from her lips, she was confused. Was this jealousy that emanated from her bones? Draco's face returned to a mask, steel and unyielding. "We had a disagreement. I was taking leave for some fresh air." "After that, I thought you'd find me easy prey. Something to throw your anger at." Again, she was surprised. Words like that rarely entered the sancituary of Hermione's own imagination, let alone opened to an enemy. Ron's previous statement about fraternising with the enemy returned to her like a sharp sting. Again, Hermione found herself blushing.
She was unusually weak, and Draco's eyes burned into her mind, leaving her delicate and uncertain. "We don't have to talk. It's nice to share in someone else's company from time to time." Draco turned away from her, staring into the dark depths of the castle. Hermione was perplexed at the turn of events. An overthinker by nature, she could not explain why this slippery Slytherin boy would take the time to talk sensibly with a book-loving Gryffindor. Perhaps she was only paranoid, but she could have sworn on Merlin that the conversation would be deemed as flirting. Her head hurt from the different explanations, so she surrendered to a calm silence.
Minutes passed. Hermione was leaning on the stone wall, a chill beginning to seep through her dress. Draco turned towards her. He seemed torn between speaking, and instead leaned towards her. She felt her heart begin to race. She wanted to say so many things; she wasn't ready, she still regarded him as her enemy and in fact, didn't even like him. At all. Her body spoke in contrast to her mind. She leaned to meet him, her eyes already closed. Expecting a joke, she began to worry when his soft lips met hers. A slow, sweet kiss. Her first kiss. Her first kiss, with her deadly enemy. She wanted to pull away, but she was transfixed by Draco. Her hands were shaking, when he reached forward to brush her face, pulling her closer. His free arm drew in her waist, leaving Hermione shivering. The kiss grew in intensity, until their tongues were fighting for dominance and Hermione felt a small whimper escape. Draco broke away, leaving her one last lingering kiss before swiftly leaving.
No words. No explanation. Just one heavily breathing girl left in a tangle of emotions (Ron? Viktor? Draco?) wearing a ruffled dress pulled up past her knees.
